


Rainstorms, rabbits, and a man called Richard

by isquinnabel



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Lost
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isquinnabel/pseuds/isquinnabel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Edmund learns that Lucy's imaginary island is not actually imaginary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainstorms, rabbits, and a man called Richard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts).



> Happy trick-or-treat, aurilly! I loved your letter, and writing this fic was a lot of ~~unsettling~~ fun. I hope you enjoy it!  <3

Edmund slumped in his chair, glaring at the little rivers of rainwater streaking down the windows. It was bad enough to be stuck inside; the house was dreadfully boring, and he’d grown sick of indoor activities ages ago. But it was even worse to be stuck inside with Lucy. She was, of course, prattling on about her imaginary island. 

“It rains a lot on the island too, you know,” she confided, with the timidity of someone who is hoping against hope that she’ll be taken seriously. Edmund rolled his eyes. _Peter should be pulling her into line,_ he thought. _She’s far too old for games of this sort._

“It’s not dreary rain like what we get here. It’s refreshing. It’s like the weather decides to apologise for being too hot, and wants a clean slate.”  
“Rainstorms?” he sneered. “That’s the best you can do? How boring! You might have made the weather do something interesting.”  
“Shut up, Ed,” glared Susan.  
“When you find a snow-capped mountain in the airing cupboard, the least you could do is tell us that the snow is made of marshmallows.” 

\--- 

The children spent most of their time out-of-doors. The Professor’s house had vast grounds; perfect for games, exploring, bird-watching, or even lazing about with a book. But after the affair of the Island began, Lucy clearly stopped enjoying herself. Edmund had never known her to be quite this stubborn. She would not admit that her imaginary island was just that – imaginary. She grew rather quiet, but Edmund was a skilled eavesdropper. Whenever she opened up about the island, he was listening.

“You would like him, Susan! He’s very kind, and he has the loveliest eyes.”  
“Lucy, this is going too far,” said Susan. “You know that there isn’t any such person as Richard, don’t you?”  
“But there is! I ate lunch with him just yesterday, Su. He told me I was special. He said that one day—”  
“Lucy,” said Susan, gently interrupting. “You had lunch with us yesterday. Remember?”  
“Yes, of course I remember. But I barely ate a thing, I’d already shared a rabbit with Richard. Oh, and we ate the most glorious fruit! It’s called a papaya, and it’s all orange and juicy, and—.”  
“Lucy, stop!” said Susan. “I’m worried about you. So is Peter.”  
“But I’m fine.”  
“You’re not fine! Unless you’re playing some dreadful joke, you really believe that this island is real!”  
“Because it _is_ real!” she insisted, her voice beginning to crack. This was the first hint that she was about to burst into tears, and Edmund’s cue to sneak away from the door. Lucy’s tears were tedious enough when he was obligated to stay in the room.  
_Children’s tantrums are of no interest to me,_ he thought, striding away from the girls’ bedroom with his nose in the air.

\---

At breakfast the next morning, Lucy looked miserable. Her eyes were tinged with red, and she hunched her shoulders a little while she picked at her porridge. Nobody told her off for her bad posture, which Edmund thought very unfair. If he had been the one acting like this, Peter and Susan would be scolding him thoroughly, insisting on sitting up straight at the table. He wasn’t as lucky as Lucy. Unlike her, he had never been spoiled.

The children spent the day outside, and Edmund watched his sister with interest. She was upset, certainly, but there was something a little different about her. She meandered about the perimeter of the garden, weaving in and out among the trees. Normally, she’d be bobbing up and down like a cork, hopping between exposed roots and skipping cheerfully from tree to tree. Today, she almost appeared to blend in with the shadows. Her movements were smooth, and incredibly light. Although, this was probably very easy to do when you were as tiny as Lucy.

“Where did you learn to sneak about like that?” he jeered, as soon as she was close enough to hear him. “Did Richard teach you?”

Lucy didn’t answer. 

\---

Edmund’s next fit of boredom came several days later. Lucy no longer talked to anybody about the island. To tell the truth, she no longer talked about anything much at all. Unlike his older siblings, Edmund considered this to be a rather welcome change. It was quite freeing to go about his days without Lucy buzzing in his ear like a mosquito. However, when he grew bored of messing about outdoors, he found himself thinking about her silly island. _Rainstorms and rabbits,_ he thought. _And a man called Richard_. While she hadn’t talked about any of it for days, he could tell she hadn’t forgotten. It had been a rainy morning, but Lucy still spent ages outdoors. She gazed up at the sky until she was soaked to the skin; Susan scolded her terribly afterwards.

He shook his head. How stupid did she think they were? Or, alternately, just how mad was she? He decided to try an experiment: he would go to Lucy, and claim that he too had been to the island. He would watch her reaction closely and write it down in a notebook, like a scientist observing a trained bear.

He told himself he was just testing to see whether she truly believed that the island was real. Truthfully, he was just trying to upset her again, but he talked himself into believing that his intentions were pure. He splashed himself liberally with water, trying to look like he’d been caught in a rainstorm, and set out to find Lucy.

His first stop was wardrobe room. No Lucy. She was also missing from the girls’ bedroom, and the kitchen. Undeterred, he splashed some more water on his hair (it was beginning to dry out) and looked outside. He searched for her quite thoroughly before giving up with an irritated sigh, deciding his joke – or, rather, his experiment – wasn’t worth this much bother.

He thought nothing of it until later that afternoon, when Susan also couldn’t find her. Neither could Peter. They searched and they searched, until the servants and Mrs Macready and even the Professor himself were turning the place inside out, but it was no good.

Lucy had vanished.

\---

The local constable came around the next day.

He hemmed and hawed, striding about the house and looking carefully at the oddest things. He hemmed and hawed some more, and spoke to everybody individually about Lucy, her general temperament, and her last few days in the house. 

“I expect the girl’s tried to get home to London,” he said, with a voice like a shovel full of gravel. “Don’t you worry, our stationmaster knows to keep an eye out for runaways. I’m going out there right now to have a chat with him. We’ll get her back, safe and sound, before you know it!”

And with that, he finished his cup of tea, shook the Professor’s hand, and marched out the door.

“You see?” said Peter. “It’ll be alright. He’ll probably find her on his way to the station, walking along the side of the road.”  
Edmund felt a flicker of annoyance at Peter’s supposed certainty. He didn’t know anywhere near as much as he thought he did.

\---

Edmund lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. There was a strong wind, and every time the nearby tree branch rapped against the window, a part of him immediately thought it was Lucy’s footsteps trotting down the corridor. Of course, he knew it wasn’t her, but he couldn’t help it. Over and over again, his heart clenched, and then deflated. 

Edmund was very angry with Lucy for running off like this. He would never have admitted it, even to himself, but the reason he felt so angry was because he cared about her. He actually loved her quite a lot, but he didn’t really know that he did. It was buried under his own irritable nature, and Lucy’s innate ability to annoy him constantly. He grasped the bedclothes in closed fists. When she came back, he was going to give her a piece of his mind. How dare she run off like this? How _dare_ she? Honestly, she was so stupid. This was the most idiotic, childish thing she had ever done. Exactly the sort of thing that somebody who believed in imaginary islands would do.

The night dragged on, and Edmund was nowhere close to falling asleep. So, he did the next best thing; he slipped out of bed, put on his dressing gown and slippers, and went to fetch a glass of water. 

He took a longer route than necessary to the washroom, prolonging the moment where he’d have to get back into bed. Quite unintentionally, he turned into the corridor that took him past the wardrobe room. He paused, taking a moment to think to himself, once again, just how childish Lucy’s behaviour had been lately.  
“An island in a wardrobe” he muttered to himself. “How ridiculous.”  
He opened the door part way. It was heavy, and the joints squeaked a little. It was nothing he’d ever noticed before, but the night air has a way of amplifying ordinary sounds. He didn’t open it properly; he eased it partway open, and slid through the opening.

Even Edmund had to admit that it was a very impressive wardrobe. It was made of beautiful dark wood, and intricate carvings adorned the doors. If Peter had been here, he would have condescendingly informed him that these were Egyptian hieroglyphics, as if any idiot couldn’t immediately see that on their own. Edmund grumbled at the thought of this hypothetical insult. He hated being treated like a child, especially when certain little sisters were the ones who truly deserved it. He opened the doors, vaguely wondering if there were any further carvings on their insides. There weren’t, but at this point he thought he might as well have a proper look at whatever was in the wardrobe. Edmund wasn’t particularly concerned about other people’s privacy, so he had no qualms about climbing up and into the wardrobe, plunging into the rows of fur coats. 

It was much deeper than he expected. He crept forward, hands outstretched, expecting to reach the wooden back at any moment. But he didn’t. He did, however, grow warmer. He assumed this was due to being in a stuffy wardrobe with fur coats all over him, and he took a moment to shrug out of his dressing gown. But when he took another step forward, a something crunched underfoot. He breathed in a fresh, heavy sort of scent and, after yet another step, the oddest thing happened: he stumbled over a tree root, and into broad daylight.

A whole lot of jumbled-up thoughts were racing around Edmund’s brain at this moment. One of them was how terribly hot he felt in his flannel pyjamas. Another, more unsettling thought was that he had no idea where he was, or how he had gotten there. He was surrounded by plants – bright green frondy things – and the ground beneath his feet was hard-packed dirt. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder and was relieved to see the wardrobe door, and a glimpse of the spare room. That was encouraging, he supposed. He took a few more tentative steps, pushing the plants out of his face, and he half-strode, half-fell into the open.

He was up high, on some sort of ridge. The sky was bright blue, almost aggressively so, and the air was so infused with warmth that it almost felt solid. Plus, he was in a jungle. He’d never personally seen a jungle, but he knew what they looked like. He’d seen plenty of pictures in adventure storybooks, and some very realistic paintings in the Professor’s house.

He was still dumbstruck, taking in his surroundings, when a loud squeal pierced through the air. 

He gasped in shock, and whipped around. A girl about Peter’s age with long hair, bare feet, and dirty brown clothes was running towards him. This was alarming enough on its own, but it became even more so when she exclaimed, “Ed! Edmund! Is that really you? Oh, it’s so good to see you again!” in Lucy’s voice.

He stood rooted to the spot, as still as a statue. She flung her arms around him into a big, enthusiastic hug, but he remained frozen. When she pulled back, he got his first good look at this mystery girl. She had Lucy’s silly grin, and her exact same dancing eyes – even her laugh was identical to Lucy’s. She _was_ Lucy. But she wasn’t. She couldn’t be; he’d only just seen her yesterday, all red-eyed and sulky. And, obviously, her proper age.

“Oh!” She took a step back. “Of course, I’m so sorry. This must be awfully strange for you. The Professor’s house feels like a terribly long time ago for me, but obviously it’s much more recent for you. How much time has passed back in England?”  
“Er…” Edmund felt a little foggy. “I last saw you on… Tuesday morning. It’s Wednesday night now.”  
Was it still Wednesday? When you went from night-time in the countryside to daytime in some mysterious jungle, did it become a different day? He stared dully at this girl – could it really be Lucy? – while she marvelled at the time difference.

“That’s awfully interesting. A whole day has passed in your time! You know, one time I stayed here a whole month before I went back to England. When I came back, it was still the exact same moment that I originally left. But I suppose it’s different now. Time can’t freeze forever.” She tugged joyfully at his hand. “Come on!”

She turned on her heel and began to walk, half-dragging Edmund after her.

“Our camp is very close, just at the bottom of this ridge. It moves around a lot. The Wardrobe is good about that, though. It always dropped me off somewhere nearby.”  
He half-listened to her as she chattered away about things that didn’t make sense. The gist of it seemed to be how marvellous a place this island was, and how she always knew that he’d come eventually. To be honest, he wasn’t really listening. His pyjama pants kept catching on things, and he had to keep stopping to untangle himself. Lucy – if it really was Lucy – found this very funny. Edmund, as you might expect, did not. 

“I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone! Richard will be awfully interested to meet you.”

\---

The camp was extremely simple. There was a handful of tents and a campfire, nestled in a grassy hollow. It was nothing. Even his school bivouacs had been more interesting that this.

“Richard, this is my brother, Edmund,” said Lucy, eagerly. “The one I told you about. I just found him on the ridge!”

So, this was Richard. The famous, imaginary Richard. His dark eyes gave Edmund a quick once-over before offering his hand. Edmund, assuming this glance was due to his pyjamas, felt rather indignant. He was, admittedly, in a shocking state, but Richard was in no position to judge. He was dressed in filthy rags, just like Lucy. And everybody else here, for that matter.

“Nice to meet you, Edmund.”  
Edmund shook Richard’s hand, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like ‘nice to meet you, too’. Edmund was generally too well brought-up to respond in this manner, but this situation was a bit much for him. He hadn’t ever learnt how to address someone’s ex-imaginary friend.  
“Lucy, Ellie could use some help with the boar meat. Why don’t you go give her a hand, while I get to know your brother a little.”

Edmund didn’t like the sound of that at all. This girl may not have been the Lucy he knew, but there was at least an air of familiarity about her. Once she left him, he’d be on his own. But she agreed, of course, and went trotting off towards the other end of the camp. It was extremely odd, seeing her with all these other people. She was easily one of the youngest here, but she really seemed to fit. It made Edmund rather uncomfortable, seeing how easily she bantered back and forth with the people she passed, and how she joined the group at the fire without even thinking. She didn’t seem to be babied, or indulged, or quietly tolerated. She just… was.

“This must be hard for you,” said Richard. “It’s been six years since she joined us. When did you last see her?”  
Edmund felt extremely vulnerable. He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping Richard would let him leave soon.  
“Yesterday.”  
“Wow. So she’s nearly doubled in age since you saw her a day ago? That must be unsettling.”  
Edmund shrugged. He wished he had something to do with his hands.  
“She’s very happy to see you. She always said that you’d follow her here one day.”  
This was ridiculous. He didn’t know how to respond; all the reasons why it was ridiculous ran together in his head, making a great jumble of disconnected thoughts.  
“How did you find our island, Edmund?”  
“Er…” Edmund hesitated. “A wardrobe.”  
“The same one as Lucy?”  
“Yes.”  
“So, you climbed inside a wardrobe. And it just let you through, from England to the Island? Like a tunnel?”

It sounded so stupid when he put it like that.

“Yes,” he admitted, scuffing his slippers in the dirt.  
“Were you looking for the Island at the time?”  
“No!” exclaimed Edmund. “Of course not!”  
“Well then, if you don’t mind my asking, what were you doing inside the wardrobe?”

Edmund stared blankly at him. Was he really expected to account for that? Even Edmund himself wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been doing in that wardrobe. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so he went for a walk. Was it really so bizarre that he found himself in the wardrobe that his missing sister had raved endlessly on about? He hadn’t exactly put any thought into his reasons for opening the door and climbing inside. It just seemed like the natural thing to do.

Richard, however, seemed to create his own meaning from Edmund’s silence. He smiled.  
“Why don’t you join Lucy at the fire. I’m sure she’d love to show you how to roast boar.”

And with that, their conversation was over. Richard turned away and strode towards the largest tent, disappearing inside.

\---

That night, Edmund was given a share of boar meat, and a sleeping spot on the ground. He was exhausted. He badly needed some sleep, but he had no intention of doing so. 

He was getting out of this place.

His stomach gurgled painfully as he tiptoed away from the camp, and he wasn’t sure if this was from nerves or from his unconventional supper. These people probably didn’t know the first thing about cooking wild boar. Not that he knew much himself, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that he didn’t belong here. Neither did Lucy, but she seemed well and truly brainwashed into thinking that she did. He felt rather guilty at the thought of leaving her behind, but he couldn’t bear the idea of staying any longer. Not for one more second.

Climbing the ridge was much harder than climbing down, especially in the dark. He had no idea what direction to go except, obviously, to keep climbing upwards. His legs ached, and his pyjama cuffs were in shreds. By the time he reached the top he was dying for a rest, but he immediately began to scramble amongst the shrubs. The wardrobe door must be here somewhere. 

“That’s the wrong spot.”  
Edmund yelped. When he turned around, Lucy was right behind him. Quite literally, right behind: she was close enough to stand toe to toe with him.  
“How long have you been there?”  
“Since you left the camp. Honestly, Ed, do you think I’d let you go wandering about on your own? This place is dangerous.”  
“I thought you said it was magnificent.”  
She smiled. “It’s both. Anyway, I suppose you’re looking for the wardrobe door? You won’t find it here. The place where I found you is about ten minutes away. Can you find your way back from there?”  
Edmund grunted. Lucy, taking this as a yes, started to walk.

They travelled along the ridge in awkward silence. Or, at least, it was awkward for Edmund. Lucy seemed comfortable enough, but Edmund was thoroughly rattled by this new dynamic. He’d never before hesitated to inform Lucy when she was being an idiot. In fact, he’d lately taken to informing her of exactly this on a regular basis. But this was different. For one thing, she’d always been younger than him. It was much easier to boss somebody about when they were smaller than you.

“It’s alright, you know,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to stay the first time.”  
He frowned. What did she mean, the first time?  
“Excuse me?”  
“Well, it’s a lot to take in. I understand. I was the same way, I needed time to ease into this place.”  
“Ease into this place? What, you mean living here?”  
“Of course I mean living here. It’s hard to get your mind around it all. At least, it was for me.”  
“I don’t exactly plan on living here, Lucy. I belong in England.”  
“If you say so, Ed.”

When he turned to look at her, there was a small smile on her face. It was the exact same smile Peter wore when he was acting superior about something, and a little flame of anger flickered somewhere inside of him. 

“Lucy, this whole thing is insane!” he snapped. “You need to come home! Everybody’s worried about you, even the Professor! He called the police today!”  
Lucy didn’t seem particularly moved by this piece of information.  
“For heaven’s sake, Lucy, come back! You need to be with your family!”  
“No, Edmund. I’m exactly where I need to be.”  
“Where you _need_ to be?” he sneered. “What exactly are you needed for in this place? What could possibly be so important that you won’t come home?”  
She laughed, which only made Edmund angrier.  
“It’s a long story, Ed.”  
“Tell me, then!”  
“No, not tonight. Perhaps you’ll be more amenable to it next time. Or, at least, parts of it.”  
Edmund clenched his fists.  
“Are you joking? Next time? There’s not going to be any next time, Lucy! I’m going home. And if you had any sense, you’d come with me.”  
She shook her head.  
“I’m sorry, Ed. But you will understand. I promise.”

She came to a halt. Edmund wasn’t quite done shouting at her; there’s nothing quite so infuriating as someone who is endlessly calm in response to your boiling rage, but she spoke before he could get anything else in.  
“This is where I found you,” she said, pulling shrubs aside. “Do you see the wardrobe?”  
It took a few minutes to find it. If Lucy hadn’t followed him to the top of the ridge, Edmund would have had no chance. But once he spotted the sleeve of a fur coat poking out amongst the leaves, he turned expectantly towards her.

“Are you coming?”  
“No. But I’ll see you next time.”  
He rolled his eyes. “There isn’t going to be any next time, Lucy.”  
“Well, when you change your mind, you know where to find us.”  
With a strangled cry of frustration, Edmund stalked towards the wardrobe.  
“I’m not coming back!”  
“Yes you are,” she retorted, following him through the fronds. He was halfway through the wardrobe, elbowing his way through the furs, when she said, “the Island hasn’t finished with you, Edmund!”

He stumbled out of the wardrobe and nearly fell flat on his face. He slammed the doors behind him, but not before Lucy’s voice shouted, “It’s barely even started!”


End file.
